


Patience

by trufflemores_Glee_fic



Category: Glee
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 15:34:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11466480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trufflemores_Glee_fic/pseuds/trufflemores_Glee_fic
Summary: Kurt does some self-reflection.





	Patience

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everybody! After receiving multiple requests to repost my old Glee fics, I have created a second AO3 account to do so. I hope you can forgive me for flooding the Glee pages over the next few days. 
> 
> I also ask for kindness regarding the quality of these fics. Over on my main AO3 account (trufflemores), I have written over 150 Flash fics; end result, my current work is of a higher quality than these older pieces. But I know how beloved old fics can be, and I respect that something I consider sub-par can be someone else's favorite. 
> 
> So I hope you enjoy this fic and any others you choose to read. If you choose to do so, I would also be happy to have you on board 'The Flash' bandwagon as well.
> 
> Kick back, relax, and enjoy. You have been one of the greatest audiences I have ever had.
> 
> Affectionately yours,  
> trufflemores

Who is Kurt Hummel, but the luckiest man alive?

It won't always be like this, swept up in a current of gentle predawn serenity. Blaine is warm and silent at his side, one hand curled towards his cheek in idle contemplation but frozen there, his buoyant energy tapped out after hours of celebration. Kurt has already washed the fresh scent of wedding cake and barnyard sunsets and late-night starry dances from his skin, but he lingers in the present, savoring the fresh sheets, the soft, chilling drift of dewy grass through the open window, the way Blaine's skin smells like love and home. He tucks his chin a little more comfortably against the pillow just to watch the man beside him, utterly entranced. It's late and his eyes slip low with fatigue, but his smile is soft and genuine as he watches the steady rise and fall of every breath.

He's so in love, his heart beating in tandem with the resting one beside it. In every way, from his aching feet to the soft, fine hair on his head, he's so, so in love with Blaine Anderson.

Each breath whispers sleep to him, but he wants to engrain the moment in his memory forever, wants to gather up his wedding suit and hug it until it's impressed permanently against his skin, a tangible promise of his devotion, suit and tie and all.

_I do._

Idle musings are chased away by the warmth radiating from Blaine like gravity, their own cocoon of quiet a far more peaceful world than the one lying just beyond the door. He feels the band of silver against his palm and tears roll down his cheeks, slow and unabated, his smile gentle and certain around the edges.

It wasn't easy, getting here, but every shattered heart and broken sob was worth the journey. Every moment of idle attraction, of faint consideration, of fleeting glances in Blaine's direction was worth the end.

He'd been terrified the day they had pulled into the Dalton parking lot, knowing what awaited him: a lifetime of sharing, of concessions, of giving up a part of himself to be with someone else. Burt had listened to him and even offered some consolation. He'd promised Kurt that things would work out, but it wasn't until Kurt had stepped out of the car and seen Blaine, dressed to the nines in his gorgeous brilliantly yellow suit, that Kurt had finally forgotten his fears because if everything else went afoul, some things were worth taking chances for.

And Blaine was one of them.

Of course, they'd been kids, he thinks, letting one idle hand stroke the sleep-warm flesh of Blaine's forearm. They hadn't made the best choices. They'd taken things too quickly for their own peace of mind, leaping into deeper and darker waters before catching a brisk, vital breath of air beforehand. While Kurt cut through the water at a breathtaking, exhaustive pace to ensure their success as an engaged couple, Blaine lagged behind, mired in the details and failing to keep pace while Kurt pushed onward. Where Kurt ignored problems, Blaine challenged them, seeking out a therapist months before Kurt would ever make the brittle, delicate phone call on his own, pushing for a relaxation period while Kurt made wedding plans. They'd never been on the same page, even though their hands clasped across the table in the same way and their bodies fit together so well at night.

In the end, they didn't call off their engagement out of anger or resentment, as Kurt had long feared they would. (And his stroke slows and gentles as he recalls an equally vulnerable admission on Blaine's part: "One day you're gonna wake up and realize 'I don't love him anymore.'") Kurt, stroke for stroke, outpacing his fiancé by a mile and swimming back every few nights just to make sure he was even there, grew exasperated trying to follow Blaine's forays. What was natural and normal and stressful about college and life in New York for Blaine was old news to Kurt, an obstacle conquered, a skill learned. The novelties of trying new coffees and going out on date nights to familiar places and even just roaming the streets together were on a different plane of enjoyment for Kurt, who once starrily engaged in them and, for a time, rediscovered that joy with Blaine. But while Kurt's enthusiasm for such mundane entertainments waned, Blaine's seemed stable, even a necessity for ensuring his mental wellbeing. As long as Kurt returned to swim with him, then their bond seemed assured, even if Kurt was exhausted from retracing his steps and Blaine from conquering even the basic ones in the process.

It was a period of unrest, a climate of instability, and their coping mechanisms clashed spectacularly as days became weeks and weeks became months.

Kurt stopped accommodating and Blaine started forcing himself to push onward long after exhaustion had taken its toll, throwing himself into wedding planning with as much energy as he could muster while trying to find a job, maintain a good GPA at NYADA, and stay alive in New York. Retrospectively, Kurt cringes at his own oblivion, at Blaine's attempts too little, too late to remedy the situation. He wishes that they'd waited, that they'd taken their time in their own ponds before taking on a world unknown.

He wishes that Blaine hadn't felt so utterly overcome by his depression that some nights he barely spoke to Kurt or resented Kurt when, overcome by his exhaustion from maintaining a backbreaking pace, he returned the favor. He wishes that he hadn't taken his anger and frustration and grief out on Blaine or vice-versa, wishes that he'd asked more questions instead of demanding answers, wishes that he'd bandied the idea of therapy before outright rejecting it as "unnecessary."

Therapy, he knows now, isn't about locking crazy people in cells, even though he'd felt like one the first day he'd walked through the clinic's doors. It's about tossing out life vests and teaching people how to swim when they feel like they're drowning. It's about a breath of fresh air when he feels like death, an openness to hear his side of the story instead of a rigid shoulder or a platitude.

Shuffling closer, he lets himself be folded into Blaine's unconscious embrace, an arm sliding sleepily around his waist to hold him close even as dream-Blaine wanders without him. He missed this every night that it was gone, and he feels his smile turn a little bittersweet at all those lost nights, at all those times when he should have been there and instead was somewhere else entirely, trapped in his own mind of guilt and hatred and grief.

Therapy, he reflects, feeling the wash of Blaine's sleepy breath over his shoulder, was about more than restoring his confidence. It was about restoring his ability to love deeply without losing himself in it.

When you lose someone, there can be a lot of outward pressure on your shoulders to let them go, his therapist had told him once, early on, long before he'd ever heard about Finn. In order to keep pace with other people, we can't carry others. We're not strong enough to. We can help them limp along, but we can't be their feet. They have to find their own path, and if ours diverges from theirs, it can be very, very difficult to forget that they were alongside us once. We never forget it, really. You don't forget the ones you love.

But you learn that there are other ways to express your craving for that love in your life, and that not every solution involves "winning someone back," if you will. That love never made you stronger or better; it simply filled a space in your life that was receptive to it. You want to be loved, and when someone loves you, it fills that void. You're conscious of the warmth that they bring into your life and the peace that they bring your mind; it feels good to have someone to listen to you or entertain you or help you along when you need it. Knowing that you have someone to catch you if you stumble or fall is also reassuring.

And then the paths split, and that person walks away. Maybe it's a fight. Maybe it's a divorce. Maybe it's a death. Whatever the case, you notice the absence, and while the other people in your life may be keen to see the anger and grief that accompanies a loss, they fail to see the guilt, especially when we lose a loved one in a very permanent way. Even non-permanent losses can feel permanent at the time. As a result, our conscience doesn't always want to accept that that void needs filling again or that the person who filled it for a year or two or ten is no longer going to do that for you. They don't understand why we don't just "move on," why we would rather carry a proverbial corpse than befriend someone new.

It's worse when it's someone you trust, because now, you don't just feel guilty for not trying harder to win them back, but you feel upset for trusting them at all. Your judgment failed you. Your instincts were wrong. In short, you misplaced time and effort and energy in a person who ultimately failed to reciprocate long-term. And that feeling hurts, Kurt. Losing someone, whether it's a friend or a family member or a mentor, hurts. Because we trust them to be with us for as long as we need them, and that doesn't always fit their needs, and as soon as our paths diverge we don't simply shrug our shoulders and move on, we cling to their memory and to their presence in our lives and to what we got from them.

And what we received, ultimately, was love.

So, you don't need another person in your life, but you do need what they gave you. And divorcing the two is difficult. Grieving takes time. But eventually, you'll find other things that can fill that niche, and you'll find that you can survive and thrive on your own.

But to miss that warmth, to miss that security, to miss that love?

Is only human.

"Kurt?"

Blaine's voice is sleep rough and heavy as he drags Kurt a little closer, a gentle, reflexive tug. "Y'okay?"

Kurt lets himself soak in Blaine's real embrace, feeling the love and warmth that felt so vacant from his life months ago, the tears that came then a far cry from the relieved, happy ones trickling sluggishly down his cheeks now.

"Hey," Blaine whispers, a little more awake as he shuffles down so they're eye-to-eye, concern etching the corners of his cheeks. "Hey," he echoes, reaching up to gently brush the tears away with his thumb. "It's okay."

"I'm so glad to have you back," Kurt says, and means it with every fiber of his being, in every echo of his heartbeat, tucking an arm around Blaine's waist and squeezing lightly. "So, so glad."

Blaine's smile is slow but warm as he leans in for a quick kiss, half-conscious but so dedicated, so deeply in love, his ring pressing so nicely against Kurt's skin. "Me too." With a light, unhurried air, Blaine opens his arms and utters softly, "C'mere."

Kurt shuffles closer, turning and folding himself into Blaine's arms, feeling held and protected and safe again for the first time in a long time.

"I've got you," Blaine murmurs, chin tucked so gently over Kurt's shoulder, "and this'll work, okay?"

Smiling, teary-eyed but squeezing Blaine's left hand reassuringly where it's tucked around his stomach, Kurt echoes, "Okay."

And as Blaine drifts back to sleep, Kurt matches his rhythm, feeling a certain triumph that wasn't there before, that is irreplicable, he is certain, and the reason why wedded couples fondly recall this night as their favorite.

We're married.

And he knows that whatever happens to him, whatever happens to them, they'll make it through.

Because that's what love is.

Love is knowing that he's the luckiest man alive because he knows that everything they do won't be perfect, but with patience and time it will work. It's knowing that every moment won't be full of such timeless ecstasy, but it will be shared by a thread that extends across borders and lifetimes and galaxies. It's a promise that no matter what, he'll never have to live alone again.

Love is patient, love is kind, and love is the way that he falls asleep in Blaine's arms that night, an Anderson-Hummel at last.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. Please let me know if there are any weird coding errors in the fic! I did my best to weed them out before publication, but some will inevitably slip through the cracks.


End file.
